


Pressure

by Alexa_Piper



Series: Phic Phight 2020 [4]
Category: Danny Phantom
Genre: Gen, Ghost King Danny Fenton
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-25
Updated: 2020-04-25
Packaged: 2021-03-02 00:06:58
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,485
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23841973
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Alexa_Piper/pseuds/Alexa_Piper
Summary: “Beware corruption, Your Grace, for if it takes you, it will turn you into someone you never intended to become.”ORA newly-crowned Phantom receives an unexpected visit from the previous king.Phic phight prompt by Habato.
Series: Phic Phight 2020 [4]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1686727
Comments: 14
Kudos: 112





	Pressure

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Habato](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Habato/gifts).



> Based on Habato's Phic Phight prompt: "Pariah Dark got out again! Danny goes to take care of it, but Pariah is acting.... weird. Not-evil weird. Turns out something or someone else caused Pariah (If that is his real name) to be the raging tyrant history knows him as, but the influence has ended and he's a new (or renewed) person now. What changed, and who's at fault?" (I hope you don't mind the slight creative liberty!)

It was impossible to sit comfortably on this throne.

Danny shifted, trying to alleviate the tingling numbness in his backside, but moving only brought a rush of static before the numb ache set back in. He didn’t understand why he couldn’t have a cushion or something, and had said so, but Clockwork simply mentioned some crap about how seats of authority are never comfortable and closed the door, leaving Danny alone in the dank throne room.

Water dripped somewhere in the gloom, and Danny huffed and leaned against one of the angular stone armrests. He could barely see anything beyond the dim circle of light cast by his own spectral glow and the crown of blinding white fire on top of his head. At first, he’d tried to tear it off and fling it as far away as he could, but whenever he tried to touch the token of his recent coronation, his fingers passed right through it. Eventually he’d given up and resigned himself to sulking. If this was some sort of test, then he hoped he failed it, so they’d realise they made a mistake and let him go.

He would have fallen asleep, except this chair was all hard angles with nowhere comfortable to rest his head. He’d just have to wait. Surely Clockwork wouldn’t leave him here to rot?

Metal scraped against stone. Danny sat up straight again, squinting as he tried to peer into the darkness. “Hello?” he called. His voice was small in the crumbling expanse, and he swallowed before trying again with a little more gusto. “Who’s there?”

The sound rasped again, closer this time, and Danny curled his fingers around the armrest. He would have tried to light the space with a blast of energy or flared his aura brighter, but his powers were held captive by the chains that bound him to the throne.

“Show yourself,” Danny ordered, angling his chin and hoping that it was enough to hide the quaver in his words.

“As you wish.” The intruder’s voice held the depth of a chasm, and Danny flinched involuntarily as a ghost burst into visibility.

Green flames burned at the tips of his hair and flickered in the gaps between pieces of armour. The cloak drifted in a non-existent breeze, tattered but still somehow carrying the air of nobility. A single green eye glittered like the depths of hell.

Danny shrank back in his seat as Pariah Dark towered over him in all his terrible glory.

“Uh,” he squeaked, and tugged against his chains. “Um, look, this isn’t… isn’t what it looks like. Is this your throne? Sorry, um, I’d move if I could…” He gave another insistent yank, but the manacles around his wrists and ankles held firm.

“Phantom.” Pariah rolled the word around his mouth as though testing its taste. “It looks like you’re in… a  _ predicament.” _

Danny nodded enthusiastically, and his heart would have been hammering against his ribs if he wasn’t, y’know,  _ freshly dead! _ He’d already lost his head once today and really wasn’t in the mood for it to happen again so soon.

“Tell me,” Pariah continued, and his scarred metal boots scraped along the flagstones as he stepped closer, “have the others sworn their fealty yet?”

Oh, this was it. Pariah towered over him with a scowl that carved deep shadows into his face. Danny quailed in this stupid throne, pressing himself against its perfectly straight back and waiting for that terrible sword to come swinging down.

When Danny didn’t answer, Pariah’s scowl smoothed into a confused frown. He took another step closer, so that he stood right in front of the throne, and Danny curled his knees into his chest and threw up shaking hands to shield his face. Was it heroic? Not really, but he didn’t have his powers to help him right now and it wasn’t like there were any witnesses to tease him for his cowardice.

Nothing happened for several long, painful seconds, and Danny’s trembling core settled back down when no blade descended from above. He peeked through the space between his arms and frowned at the shocked and decidedly-not-murderous expression on the old ghost’s face.

Pariah was frozen, hand outstretched a mere foot from Danny’s body, and his core whispered that maybe, just  _ maybe, _ he wasn’t here to hurt him. Danny cautiously dropped his arms back into his lap, the heavy chains clinking with the movement. He didn’t need to breathe anymore, but his chest heaved out of sheer habit, and he pressed a hand against where his heart used to be and silently willed himself to calm down.

Pariah drew back, and the lack of animosity did little to soothe Danny’s frayed nerves. Water continued to drip in the darkness, the room felt more unwelcoming than ever, and the flaming crown weighed heavily on Danny’s head as he fought to regain control of himself.

“I am not here to harm you, little king.”

“Then what  _ are _ you here for?” Danny asked. “Did you come for the crown? Go ahead, take it. I’d get rid of it myself if I could!”

Pariah shook his massive head, and the movement of his flickering hair made shadows bounce at the edge of their circle of light. “The Infinite Realms have chosen you, and it would be suicide for me to oppose.”

Danny gave a shaky, breathless laugh. He wasn’t really sure what made him say it, but in the stress and helplessness of this entire messed-up situation, he fell back on the familiarity of vitriol. “Oh, yeah? Then go to hell.”

The dethroned king gave a heavy sigh, spreading his hands wide in an exaggerated fashion. He made a show of looking around them before his lone eye bored straight into Danny’s. “I think you’ll find that we’re already here, Your Grace.”

Danny snorted. “Look, man, I’m not in the mood. If you’re not here to hurt me then maybe you could unchain me?” He leaned forward and held out his fists as far as the chains would let him. “I kinda don’t want to be stuck here forever, and this throne is  _ super _ uncomfortable. I don’t know how you ever enjoyed it.”

A shadow flitted across Pariah’s face. “One does not simply  _ enjoy _ being a king.” He gingerly wrapped a hand so big that it could crush Danny’s entire body around one outstretched wrist. “When you take power as I did, you spend your entire existence fighting to keep it.”

He pressed his fingers against the hollow of Danny’s wrist and slowly began to squeeze. Danny whined, half in pain and half in protest, and tried to pull away as the fingers of his left hand uncurled without his permission.

“For one chosen for power, such as you,” Pariah continued, “the battle is not to keep what you have claimed for yourself, but to carry the mantle of others nobly.”

He began to slide something onto a splayed finger, and Danny kicked out with a desperate “No!” His feet were caught short by the chains, and he squirmed as a tight band slipped past his knuckle.

“As long as your heart is pure, you will rule well,” Pariah said, and a chilling weight settled around Danny’s core as a heavy firmness took its place at the base of his ring finger. “Beware corruption, Your Grace, for if it takes you, it will turn you into someone you never intended to become.”

Danny shrieked as blinding white flames burst from the ring on his finger and swept across his body. It brushed away his familiar jumpsuit, wrapping him instead in heavy armour that shone like the moon.

The flames sank beneath the interlocking pieces and stayed there, flickering in the gaps. The fire felt like ice against his skin, cold and cleansing, and Danny tried to tear the ring off his hand. It was as insubstantial as the crown beneath his grasping fingers, and his chest clenched with a quiet, broken sob. “I don’t want to be King.”

Pariah knelt before him, and Danny realised that the old ghost had lost his armour and flames. He was now dressed simply, in plain green and black clothing that looked like it belonged in some movie about knights and old royalty. “No truly pure soul wants to be King, Your Grace,” he responded. “For what it’s worth, I will help you to avoid the corruption of the ring and crown, if that is your wish.”

The chains dissolved into smoke, and Danny leaned his elbows against his knees and buried his face in his hands with another helpless sob. “Leave me.”

Through the gaps in his fingers he watched Pariah give a sweeping bow. “As you wish, my King.”

He faded into wisps that dissipated in the cool, damp air, and Danny stayed hunched on the throne and wept quietly as white flames flickered in the darkness.


End file.
